


Of Silver Wings and Blue Roses

by PeggyandthePenguins



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:34:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22337134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeggyandthePenguins/pseuds/PeggyandthePenguins
Summary: Nero had thought that she had left him for good. For ten long years, the woman with the fire red hair had simply disappeared, never to be heard from again. And once again, he was alone. Or so he had thought.
Relationships: Dante (Devil May Cry)/Original Female Character(s), V (Devil May Cry)/Original Female Character(s), Vergil (Devil May Cry)/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 18





	Of Silver Wings and Blue Roses

The first time he had seen her, he was just a baby, practically a newborn. His adopted parents told him how he had only wanted the woman to hold him, how he had screamed all day and all night until the red-haired woman had picked him and swaddled him in his gift— a soft, fluffy blanket that he would carry with him everywhere. They had told him that she had practically fell in love with him when he grabbed her hair and yanked hard.

He didn’t understand the woman. Yet she always there whenever he had begun thinking that she had forgotten about him.

He didn’t remember the first few times he had met her; they said she had always popped up here and there, staying for random amounts of times. Yet he could always rely on her showing up on his birthday. She had always given him odd gifts. Her first gift was pretty normal— the blanket. The second was a book. It was a book he couldn’t read, at least not yet. But he would really hard to learn to read it, he had told the woman. The third gift was a box. But the woman made sure that he was not to open the box until he was fifteen. He didn’t like the box very much. The woman made sure that the box was kept safe and out of reach of all three of the children. His adopted sister thought it was a pretty box— as did her brother— but he didn’t want the pretty box. He was beginning to want the woman to stay with him.

The more times she visited, the longer the woman began to stay. Every time she came, he would be the first to greet her; he ran as fast as his little stubby legs could carry him. She would scoop him up and spin him around, giggling as he squealed. 

The first memory he had of her was the woman giving him her forth gift. The forth gift she had given him was an odd necklace. It was made of a simple black cord tied to an odd pendant. Silver wings wrapped themselves around a red gem. The red reminded him of the woman’s hair. Fire red— always burning. She said that it would always protect him. If he always kept it on, she would be able to find him if he was in trouble. He didn’t understand what she meant, but he vowed to her that he would never take it off.

In return, he had scraped together enough loose change to buy her something and begged his adoptive mother to take him to the market. He hated being at any place but his home, especially without the woman, but he must journey out to find her something. So he puffed out his chest and pretended not to see the bullies leering at him as he traversed the market square. Staring down at sparkly jewels and shiny metals, he had realized that the woman would not like those gifts. He knew enough about the woman to realize that she didn’t like shiny things, even if a diamond ring sprouting wings was sitting on her ring finger. But with enough searching, he had found the perfect gift.

Two silver angel wings hanging on a silver chain. Now they could match. 

When he presented it to her, her eyes had swelled, and her fingers went to touch her own winged ring resting on her fingers. She whispered his name, and at first, he had thought he had messed up. Perhaps he should have gotten that shiny jewel at the shop. But she had gently pulled him in for a tight hug, and this was when he had first heard her cry. In return, she had given him a too big ring with a rose engraved on the silver metal and a gentle kiss on his forehead before she left. He had forgotten to ask her why she kept leaving him.

The sixth gift was a warm sweater. It was most definitely oversized and kind of ugly, but it would keep him warm in the cold nights that Fortuna had bestowed on his adopted family. It was definitely a strange gift that the woman had given him— she had also told him that this gift would protect him as long as he wore it. He still appreciated the gift— the fire-haired woman gave it to him after all— but the boy decided that he would only wear when slipping off to bed. He would admit that the sweater was cozy and comforting to an extent; it was almost like the woman was hugging him herself. And every night, the small boy cocooned himself in the soft knit sweater that reminded him of the woman.

On his seventh birthday, he received no gift.

The woman busted through his family’s front door in a violent spray of red. The image of red, angry claw marks running down her front and the smell of harsh metal would burn itself into his eyes. The crimson liquid ran down her body and splattered onto the hallway floor as his adopted father quickly dragged her into the guest bedroom. His adopted mother bolted out of the house in a flurry of white fabric in order to grab the closest doctor. On that day, the boy thought he would never see the woman smiling at him again.

The boy burst into tears.

It took everything his adopted brother and sister had to calm him down. When only occasional pathetic sobs were left, the boy waddled over to the slowly healing woman with his sweater bundled in his arms. It was so massive that he almost tripped over the sleeves that had poured over the sides of the mass of fabric. Yet, he still made his way over to her. She whispered his name again and he was left to stare into her deep pool of emerald eyes. The beautiful woman could only whisper his name again and again as he struggled to lay his sweater on top of her resting form. With a childish but gentle pat on her forehead, the boy was finished and turned to leave the woman to rest.

With another call of his name, the boy turned back again to face the woman, only this time he found her staring into his greenish-grey eyes with a weak smile on her face. He burst into tears again, and someone— he couldn’t remember who— had to carry him out of the room.

She must have healed fast, the boy remembered thinking, for she left in the night, leaving behind his sweater neatly folded on the bed she had been resting on. It would be a full year before he saw her again.

On his eighth birthday, she had come with more smiles. He patted her over, making sure that she was unharmed. With his worries reassured, she ushered him insides, saying that she had important things to tell him. The boy followed after her happily; he would do anything she told him as long as she would be with him. The woman sat him down on his bed and clung to his still tiny hands. Someday, he declared to her, he would be strong enough to protect her. She had pressed her lips to his forehead and told him that he must listen to her carefully. She pulled off the ring with the wings and pressed it into the palm of his hand.

“I’m going to be gone for a while,” she whispered to him. She was always gone for awhile, the boy had whined. She shushed him and continued. “I need to find someone, and it’ll take me a long time to find him, okay?”

“Why?” He questioned. “Why can’t you stay here?”

His questions seemed to bring pain to her— if her expression was anything to go by. “Look, I was hoping to tell you earlier, but I— I’m your mother. And I’m trying to find your father.” 

His greenish grey eyes widened. He had always wanted a family. He had always wanted someone to cuddle and coddle him when he got cold at nights— never mind if the sweater kept him warm. The boy wanted someone to cling to. He wanted someone to wake him up and give him good morning kisses. He wanted a father to be with him. He wanted to experience what it was like to have a family— something that all the other school children had.

So his tiny fingers twisted themselves into her pale, white shirt and balled into small fists. “Don’t leave me!”

“Look,” she cooed at him as his eyes began to water. “I’ll make sure to come back in a year. Then I won’t leave you any longer. We’ve been away for a year, yeah? You think you can handle being away for just one more year?”

“Promise?” The boy squeaked out.

“I promise,” the woman gave him another kiss on the forehead. “And as proof that I need to come back, I want you to take care of that ring for me, okay? It was a gift from your father.” The boy nodded furiously, making sure to hug her tight before she left again. “I will come back, Nero. I promise.”

She had promised. But it was the last time the boy had seen her.


End file.
